Collapse
by andrastaie
Summary: While stationed with fellow Grey Wardens at Ansburg, Isethari Mahariel is forced to deliver unexpected - and unpleasant - news to Carver Hawke.


"Oye! Ise!"

Isethari's head snapped up, looking around to find the owner of the harsh voice. Her eyes landed on Grady, approaching her at a quick step waving a letter around in his hand. Her gaze narrowed at him, then flicked to the parchment in his hand. Without preamble, he was shoving the paper at her as soon as he was close enough. Her brows twisted together as she looked at it, then back to him. One hand rested against her hip as she stared her fellow warden down.

"What's this for?"

"That Hawke boy. He likes ya, so you can give it t'him." And on that matter, Grady would brook no argument. He spun on his heel and disappeared the way he came as quickly as he'd approached.

Lifting her hand off her hip, Isethari rubbed her forehead and sighed. Turning her head, she looked up toward the sky. The sun was staring to sink on the horizon, the keep washed in a fading orange glow. Her eyes dropped back down to the scroll in her hands. Her fingers glided along the side, temptation running deep to open it before going to him.

She let out a long sigh, closing her eyes and slipping it gently into her belt. There was a gnawing feeling in her gut about the matter. It wasn't that Carver went without letters, but this one was different. She'd seen several before, they came on a monthly basis from his family. This one, however, the paper was not nearly as nice. And the ribbon that kept it closed by and large put the parchment to shame in appearances. It was red and felt like silk, soft and smooth on her fingers.

Isethari opened her eyes, collecting her bow and quiver and leaving the practice yard. She headed up the steps into the main area of the keep and quietly padded down the hall toward Carver's bunk. The room itself was shared, but his bunkmate - Weller - had been out scouting with a couple other wardens. She bit her lip at the door. It was open, but the room looked empty.

"Looking for someone?"

A sharp, loud squeak of surprise escaped Isethari's lips. She all but jumped out of her skin as she whirled around to face Carver. Her head tipped up as she looked at him, her eyes wide.

"Um… yes." She swallowed, inhaling a few breaths and pushing an awkward smile on her lips. Dammit she should have read the letter first.

Carver didn't seem off put, chuckling as he gestured to the room. "Well, come on in then,"

Bobbing her head, Isethari followed her friend into his room. He went about peeling away the layers of his armor as she stood awkwardly in the center of the room, fidgeting with her belt. Carver looked at her over his shoulder, frowning at her awkward posture.

"Ise, what's wrong?"

She was wringing her hands, twisting and untwisting her fingers together as she contemplated. Only when Carver stopped his task and stepped closer to her did she stop and look up at him.

"I, uh…" She bit on her lip, forcing out a sigh through her nostrils. "Hopefully nothing." It was all she could manage, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she slid the rolled parchment from her belt.

Carver's brow furrowed, carefully taking the letter from her hands. At once he moved away, seating himself at the desk on the far wall. Isethari, for her part, did not move. Her feet felt weighed down, too heavy to even shuffle over. She could see it in the ever growing hunch in his frame as he sat. The sinking feeling that radiated outward into the room.

Then finally, _finally_ , Isethari found her legs could work again. That her feet would respond. When she reached his side, her hand hovered above his shoulder. Her eyes were wide with concern as she looked down at him, wanting permission to touch him. For a long time Carver didn't move. Didn't look up or even acknowledge she was still present.

"How…" he finally breathed out. "This isn't…" His mouth opened and closed as he floundered for words.

Isethari's fingers curled, but still she hesitated from making contact. "Carver…"

He flinched, withdrawing further away from her until he stood up. The paper tumbled from his hands onto the old desk, the ribbon having fluttered to the floor. His hands curled into fists, knuckles going white under the pressure. Isethari's gaze flicked from his hands and up to his face. A wet streak drew down his cheek.

Her gut had not been wrong and it wrenched at the thought. Both hands came up to cover her mouth, to stifle the gasp. One hand over the other as she tried to regain some semblance of control and calm. _Something_ that might help her friend feel more comfortable.

"She's _gone_!"

Carver slammed his fist down on the table, the wood creaking under the sharp application of force. Isethari jumped, flinching at the outburst. Yet she did not withdraw, did not back away from him. Instead she watched, observing with still wide eyes, full of sorrow and empathy.

Isethari let her hands drop off her face, but still struggled to form enough composure for proper words. To ask the right question. Moments that left her speechless were few and far between, but some circumstances could not be overcome easily. Not even for her.

An awkward silence settled, broken only by Carver's rattled breathing. When he did turn to look at Isethari, she could see much in his eyes. Fear, pain, hurt. All of it swirled up together and spat back out into one simple look that tore at her heart.

She spread her hands slightly, hesitant to do anything except watch helplessly. A long moment passed between them as they stared at each other. Lingering until Carver broke. He took two steps toward Isethari before he collapsed forward against her. Wrapping her arms around him, she sunk down onto her knees with him, ignoring the bite of the cold stone against the thin fabric of her breeches.

Carver curled against her chest, his fingers twisting and gripping her tunic tightly. His body shook, tears falling freely and accompanying broken and strained sobs. Isethari held him close against her body, resting her head gently atop his.

"O Falon'Din," she whispered. "Lethanavir-Friend of the Dead." Lifting one hand up, she gently ran it along his back, tracing soothing patterns with her nimble fingers. "Guide my feet, calm my soul," she continued. "Lead me to my rest."

It did not matter to Isethari that she did not know who was gone. It did not matter that she likely did not know the person in question. What mattered is that she would ensure Falon'Din would guide their soul in the Beyond. It was the least she could do for Carver.


End file.
